


Five Times Nothing Almost Actually Made Zillah Care

by theskywasblue



Series: Five Things [9]
Category: Lost Souls - Poppy Z Brite
Genre: Drabble, Dysfunctional Family, Incest, M/M, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-07
Updated: 2010-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-10 10:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/98849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue





	Five Times Nothing Almost Actually Made Zillah Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [velvetina_wonka](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=velvetina_wonka).



The boy - beautiful, lithe, dark, tragic-eyed Nothing - is emptying his stomach on the side of the road. Zillah watches with something akin to amusement. Nothing has obviously never had as many drugs - as many pleasures - as Zillah has given him in the last few hours. He hopes Nothing becomes accustomed to them soon so they don't have to keep pulling over, they're wasting valuable travel time.

Nothing's back heaves, curling into a high arch and a sound - half the mewl of a kitten and half a sob, escapes his throat as he gags.

Zillah steps over and pulls Nothing's hair back, holding it loosely at the base of his neck.

***

Nothing rolls down the window, cranes his neck out, hair tangling wildly in the chill wind. His face is ecstacy, he's high - how does the saying go? - as a kite, and for one wild moment Zillah is sure, positive, he will climb out the window and blow away on the wind, so he grabs the back of his jacket and pulls him roughly back into the van, into his lap and the steel-tight embrace of his arms.

***

The waitress is staring at Nothing. This irks Zillah immensely. He is quite accustomed to being stared at himself, but to have such attention turned on Nothing is both novel and irritating.

Not that Zillah thinks the boy unworthy of such attention, but Nothing is _his_ to give attention to; Nothing hardly needs the attention of some farmer's daughter in a roadside diner.

Surely Nothing wouldn't want that attention. Would he?

***

He's listening to them again - the tape recorded by that baseball-bat-swinging coward and his fragile as glass friend. Zillah loathes the sound, it makes his face sting with the cold memory of shattered bones and split flesh. His shame is still a raw wound, and the music presses into it, pulling at the edges and scraping tender flesh.

He could kill them. It would be easy one night to slip from the small trailer and back to their house. He could make them weep for what they put him through.

_But then..._ a tiny traitorous voice in his head whispers, _Then Nothing would hate you_

***

Nothing mouths sleepily at Zillah's wrist, like a sated infant. His eyelids flutter as Zillah pushes back his hair, caresses his fine cheekbones.

He is so fragile, so beautiful, Zillah cannot be certain if he wants to save him, or crush him for the simple joy of destruction. He presses the tips of two sharpened nails against the pulse in Nothing’s throat, watches them prick the skin, drawing up tiny beads of perfect crimson blood.

Nothing stirs. A tremor – it could be of fear, of pain, of pleasure; such things are all irreparably intertwined in Zillah’s mind – runs through Nothing’s body and he pulls himself against Zillah, a soft sigh rushing out against Zillah’s ribs.

Zillah closes his eyes and listens to Nothing’s heart beat.

-End-


End file.
